


Liberated

by glyphsbowtie



Series: Caged [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glyphsbowtie/pseuds/glyphsbowtie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is surprised to learn what he will do to keep hold of what is his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! This is the third and final story in this series. As always, it's not beta read. Thanks for reading.

Will was bent over Hannibal's desk, naked, sweating and recovering from a thoroughly enjoyable orgasm when the world darkened again.

 

It had been three months since the incident with Hannibal's patient, Greg Walker.

 

Three months since Will and Hannibal had admitted that they loved each other.

 

A lot had changed in three months. Some things were quite small; Will's hair had been trimmed, his ankle was healing well and he could walk again, and he had gained six pounds from constantly eating the delicious food Hannibal prepared.

 

Some things were a little bigger; Abigail was a permanent part of their life. She had been staying with them, and Hannibal had been tutoring her so that she could go to college. Will had moved in officially with Hannibal, along with his dogs, much to Hannibal's irritation.

 

Some things were huge. Hannibal had not killed, at all, in those three months.

 

Every morning, Will woke up to find Hannibal smiling down at him. He was told every day that he was loved.

 

Life was- impossibly- happy.

 

Will's rough checked shirts were folded in a drawer with Hannibal's smooth ones. His scuffed shoes shared the rack with Hannibal's polished ones. Two toothbrushes nestled together by the sink.

 

Hannibal was teaching Will- slowly- how to cook. Will had attempted to teach Hannibal to fish.

 

Abigail had taught them both things. Patience and humour.

 

Will had woken up one night to find the bed empty. He had found Hannibal holding a sobbing Abigail in her bedroom, where she had clearly had a nightmare. The idea of Hannibal as a parent, as a caregiver, was bizarrely beautiful.

 

Will had questioned him about it the next morning, and Hannibal had merely responded quietly, “We are her fathers now.”

 

There were other things he found fascinating about living with Hannibal. His moods were mercurial at the best of times, but mornings found him at his most grumpy, and Will's cheerful morning moods annoyed him.

 

Will stumbled across a notebook in which Hannibal had drawn nothing but Will- dozens of sketches, including one from the first day they had met. Some were violent, and depicted him holding a knife. In some, he appeared to be sleeping. In a particularly grim one, Will was holding Hannibal's dead body.

 

Hannibal still possessed this darker side, and Will was always aware of it. They had eaten nothing suspicious since he had arrived, but Will could tell Hannibal was growing tired of chicken and beef. He had dark moods were he kissed Will until both of them had bleeding lips.

 

Generally, though, they were content, although Will was aware it couldn't last.

 

And so it was, in Hannibal's office, with Will bent over the desk, that Hannibal changed the game.

 

“I need to speak with you,” Hannibal said, and Will heard him fastening his trousers.

 

Will was panting, his hands still clawing the wood. He heard the words through his blissful haze, and he knew what was coming, and he knew that Hannibal's timing was deliberate. “Bastard,” he choked out.

 

Hannibal did not reply to that, although Will could imagine his displeased expression.

 

Will struggled to his feet, reaching for his jeans with shaking hands and pulling them on. He pushed his damp hair from his eyes and perched on the desk, eyeing Hannibal, who had sat down on the chair, one leg folded neatly over the other. He looked utterly neat, not a hair out of place.

 

“Bastard,” Will repeated again. He wanted a reaction.

 

Hannibal adjusted his cuffs with steady fingers, one eyebrow cocked as he stared back at Will.

 

“You want to kill again,” Will said.

 

Hannibal inclined his head.

 

“Are you asking my permission?” Will asked, folding his arms. His heart was still thundering.

 

Hannibal clicked his tongue absently before leaning forward in the chair, resting his palms on his knees. “I am asking you to join me.”

 

Will didn't hesitate before responding. “No.”  
  


“It is your true nature, Will. You must embrace it.”

 

“No. Do what you have to do, but leave me out of it.” Will realised as soon as the words had left his mouth that perhaps he had been tricked into agreeing to allow Hannibal to kill. Indeed, there was a certain satisfaction in the way that Hannibal sat back in the chair.

 

“I am disappointed,” Hannibal said gently. Something in his eyes showed that this was the truth.

 

That night, Will sat alone in the dark with a whiskey after Abigail had went to bed. He stared at the clock, watching the hands slowly move. Hannibal was out taking care of his urges. Will hadn't asked for the details- he didn't want to know.

 

He knew he should get an early night. Jack would be ringing tomorrow asking for his help.

 

Instead, he sat waiting for Hannibal.

 

He had known that this would happen eventually. It was the price of a life with Hannibal. A price he had decided to pay.

 

A little after two, he heard Hannibal arrive home. He heard the sounds of him moving about in the kitchen. He waited a while, not sure he could handle the sight of anything that would make what Hannibal had done tonight feel any more real.

 

Eventually, he walked into the kitchen, knowing he had serious eyes and dark circles, a frowning face and dishevelled hair.

 

Hannibal was down to his shirt, leaning against the counter and sipping wine delicately. His eyes were burning as they travelled from Will's whiskey glass to his face.

 

“Was it worth it?” Will asked.

 

“Why not empathise with me and find out for yourself?” Hannibal said in a low voice.

 

“No.” It was a conscious effort to stay out of Hannibal's head, one he had to fight to make constantly.

 

“Are you scared of what you will find out about me? Or is it a fear of what you would find out about yourself?”

 

Will gritted his teeth. He was on the verge of anger.

 

He had known that he would be unhappy when this moment arrived. He wanted to cry. He wanted to shout. He wanted to punch Hannibal.

 

He was angry. Disappointed. _Jealous._

 

“Are you feeling regret about your decision to stay with me?” Hannibal asked lightly.

 

“Don't say it like that. Don't say it like you don't care.” Will took a step towards him, muscles tense.

 

Hannibal placed his glass down gently and stood up straight.

 

“Was it worth it?” Will repeated.

 

“You know how it feels to kill someone. You have been inside the heads of many killers, myself included, during your work. You have killed yourself.” Hannibal smiled. “It is always worth it.”

 

“Sometimes, I truly hate you,” Will said, surprised to realise it was the truth. He was still slowly advancing on Hannibal, who was standing still.

 

“You hate me because I remind you of yourself.” Hannibal leaned forward slightly. “You hate me because I have embraced what I am, and you cannot.”

 

Will punched him.

 

It startled both of them. Hannibal stumbled back, raising a hand to his face. His lip was split and it was bleeding. He was smiling.

 

“It was not my intention to touch a nerve, dear Will,” he said in a low, mocking tone, licking his own blood.

 

Will was furious, horrified and aroused. He dived at Hannibal, who caught him easily and reversed their positions, so that Will was pinned against the counter.

 

Hannibal glared down at him, his eyes glowing, still smiling eerily. Will could feel that Hannibal was as aroused as he was. It had been months since he had felt real fear of his lover, but looking into those bright eyes was unsettling and frightening.

 

“You once observed,” Hannibal said, bending his head low and murmuring the words into Will's ear, “that you are attracted to danger. I believe that this proves it.”

 

“I suppose it does,” Will conceded, bucking his hips involuntarily.

 

“You wanted this.” Hannibal was speaking against Will's throat now, rubbing his blood across the skin. Will could feel it, wet and hot. “That is why you waited up. You wanted to taste the moments after the kill, wanted to be a part of it.”

 

“Hannibal...” Will was clinging onto his shirt, his anger overshadowed by desire.

 

“You belong in the dark. With me.” With that, Hannibal kissed him.

 

Will kissed him back, desperately, taking in the salty metallic twang of Hannibal's blood. Hannibal's fingers squeezed his throat, a little tighter than usual, making Will moan helplessly into the kiss.

 

Shirts were not unbuttoned but were shredded by violent hands. Hannibal wrenching Will's jeans from him hurt his ankle. Will growled at him, and was rewarded with teeth nipping his bottom lip painfully, drawing blood.

 

Hannibal pushed into him roughly, muffling his cry with his hand. Will moaned into Hannibal's palm, his eyes closing, unable to do anything but accept Hannibal's painful, pleasurable onslaught.

 

Afterwards, Hannibal washed the blood from Will's face and neck with a damp cloth. Mercurial as ever, he was calm and gentle again.

 

Will felt that he couldn't look Hannibal in the eye; he often felt that way with nearly everyone, but it had been a long time since he had overcame his aversion when it came to Hannibal.

 

The truth was that Hannibal was right. Will did belong in the dark. It was something that was becoming almost painfully obvious.

 

“Did I hurt you?” Hannibal asked.

 

“No. Well, yes. But it's fine.”

 

Hannibal tipped his face up firmly, forcing him to make eye contact. “I am sorry.”

 

“Don't start that again. We both know it isn't true.”

 

“Can we go to bed? I don't want you to be upset.”

 

“Apart from the times when you do want that. As much as you love me, I'm still a plaything to you at times, aren't I?”

 

To his surprise, Hannibal gave him a small smile. “I suppose this is what I get for falling in love with someone who understands me.”

 

“You promised you would try not to be cruel.”

 

“This is me trying not to be cruel.”

 

“I give up. Let's go to bed.”

 

Hannibal helped him to his feet. “I hope you always acquiesce that easily in future, Will. It is very gratifying.”

 

“Oh, shut up before I punch you again,” Will said, mostly joking.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do very much apologise for the delay! Last weekend I broke my finger and my entire hand is in plaster, making typing generally a massive nightmare.

At the crime scene, Will was a bundle of nerves. Hannibal could almost taste his tension in the air, and he suspected that everyone else could, too.

 

The victim had been perfect. A bad tempered, rude customer services manager who had hit his wife. Hannibal had an absurd desire to share that fact with Will, but he felt weak and ashamed that he had chosen based on this, based on his need to please his lover.

 

He had chosen a night when she was out in a public place, so that there was no way she could be implicated. Again, this was Will's influence. Again, it was something he didn't want to share.

 

The presentation of the body was simple. Understated. This was a man who didn't deserve ceremony.

 

“This was a man who didn't deserve ceremony. The killer had no respect for him; he saw him as trash.” Will spoke the words quietly, eyes distant behind his glasses. Hannibal wondered what it was like for him- he was forced to put himself into the mind of a killer he already knew the identity of, forced to pretend that he didn't love and adore the killer.

 

“What was his motive?” Jack asked, frowning.

 

It was a cold day; Will was wearing a heavy grey coat buttoned up to the neck, and a dark navy scarf that Hannibal had bought him. Snowflakes were clinging to his hair. He looked very handsome.

 

Will blinked at the body before looking at Jack. “He just needs to kill.”

 

“This was obviously not a random attack,” Jack mused, staring at the body.

 

Hannibal had left him open on black plastic. The cold had created a beautiful effect on the blood and open wound; it sparkled in the morning light, as if there were diamonds mingled in with his insides. He was far more lovely in this moment than he had ever been while alive.

 

“No. It was cold, calculated. The killer felt that the man _deserved_ this.” Will's eyes flickered over to Hannibal.

 

“So we are dealing with a killer who needs to kill, but who is also selecting his victims deliberately,” Hannibal said, as if Will had looked to him for assistance and nothing else.

 

“What do we know about the victim? Is there any reason he might have deserved this? In the killer's eyes, I mean,” Will said.

 

Jack shook his head. “Nothing obvious.”

 

_He beat his wife!_ Hannibal wanted to shout the words, wanted to grip Will's shoulders and scream the truth at him. Will was glaring at him, clearly unhappy.

 

“There's blood under the fingernails,” Zeller said suddenly, from his position of kneeling beside the body.

 

Hannibal blinked once. It couldn't be his blood. There hadn't even been a struggle.

 

Which meant it was the wife's blood.

 

“Good,” Jack said, with venom in his voice.

 

Hannibal steered Will away from the crime scene gently. In the car, he turned the heater on and closed his eyes for a second, savouring the image of the body in his mind.

 

Will had taken his glasses off and was rubbing his temples.

 

“Will-”

 

“I don't want to hear it right now.” His voice was ragged, rough; he sounded as if he was on the verge of losing his temper. Hannibal could see the bite mark in Will's lower lip from the previous night. His skin had a greyish tint. “Please, Hannibal.”

 

Hannibal felt powerless. He wanted to reach across and take Will's hand, but he suspected that Will didn't want to be touched by him.

 

He told himself that this would get easier for Will. Will possessed the same need to kill as he did, but Will kept it much further down from the surface, fighting with it constantly. Hannibal thought back to the death of Greg Walker. Will had been truly glorious, truly free, in those moments.

 

He wondered if that was what was on Will's mind; his brow had creased and he was chewing his lip absent-mindedly. Hannibal tried to concentrate on driving and not on his lover's sad, thoughtful face.

 

“Am I evil?” When Will asked the words, they were so quiet that Hannibal barely heard them.

 

Hannibal swallowed, considering his answer. “Good and evil are concepts invented by man. I do not believe we can be defined in these terms.”

 

Will inclined his head, but he was silent for the rest of the journey.

 

Hannibal pondered the question as he drove. He was quite certain that he didn't believe that 'good' and 'evil' were words that could be fully given to a person; surely every person was a bubbling mixture of both; sometimes, the 'good' aspects of a personality were dominant, sometimes the 'evil' aspects were. If a person was mostly governed by aspects perceived by society as good, society would consider them good, although it wasn't that simple.

 

Will himself was Hannibal's greatest evidence of this theory. Despite the unfortunate hand that fate had dealt him, he constantly tried to make a difference- his work in catching killers was the best he thought he could offer others. He continued with this work even when it threatened to destroy him. He was kind and gentle with his dogs, and loving and gentle with Abigail.

 

Even with Hannibal, Will was good. He thought he could help make Hannibal better.

 

But there were undeniable darknesses in Will's personality. He enjoyed killing, something definitely 'evil' by any definition. He had chosen to stay with Hannibal even though he knew the truth about him. This was, at its core, a selfish act. The 'right' thing to do would be to turn Hannibal into the authorities, but Hannibal was quite sure that Will had never even really thought about that- indeed, in his ultimate, definitive act of evil, Will had murdered someone instead of turning him in.

 

Will was all shades of grey, but Hannibal was sure that he didn't want to hear that right now.

 

Hannibal was still thinking about it when they got home. He sat down with a coffee and a newspaper and observed Will.

 

Will was sat at Abigail's feet, flannel shirt sleeves rolled up, brushing Winston. He wasn't smiling exactly, but some of the shadows had lifted from his face. He looked up at Abigail and talked to her gently, in a tone that made it obvious how much he cared for her.

 

The light from the fire cast a flickering orange glow on his face. When his eyes met Hannibal's, they were bright. Hannibal chanced a gentle smile, and was pleased to receive a reluctant one back.

 

The telephone rang, and Hannibal rose to answer it, heading into the kitchen so that he didn't disturb the pleasant air of peacefulness.

 

“Hannibal, it's Jack. I assume Will is with you.” Jack- and everyone else- knew about their relationship now. Jack had started treating them as a pair. “I need you to come down. The blood under the fingernails is his wife's. I want you to interview her.” He meant that he wanted Will to interview her, but Hannibal smiled slightly at being paired with him.

 

“We will be with you shortly.”

 

Back in the car, Will was shivering. He had pulled a woollen hat over his hair, and a few errant curls poked out in a way that was unspeakably adorable. Hannibal dropped a kiss on his forehead before starting the engine.

 

“The wife's blood,” Will said as they drove. “But we know it wasn't her. So why have her blood under his nails?”

 

It seemed obvious to Hannibal, and it probably did to Will, too, but he wasn't giving anything away. Hannibal wanted Will to realise the truth on his own.

 

They made small talk on the way. Usually, Hannibal hated meaningless talking, but he wanted to help keep Will in the present.

 

Mrs Emelia Watson, the victim's wife, was a small, elegant woman with watery grey eyes and neat blonde hair. She stood up to greet Will when he entered. Hannibal watched through the one-way mirror with Jack and Alana as he shook her hand and introduced himself.

 

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said in cool, even tones. Good manners.

 

They sat down.

 

“Mrs Watson, please tell me about your husband,” Will said.

 

She blinked, looked at Will then looked at the mirror. “I will tell you what I told the detective, Mr Graham. I was out with friends when Ed died.”

 

“Yes, we've confirmed that already,” Will said gently. “I still want to talk about him.”

 

She frowned. “You want to know if I asked someone to do it. Or perhaps if I paid them.” She leaned forward, eyes flashing at Will. “I did not. I can't say I've never thought about it. I'm happy he's dead, but I had nothing to do with it.”

 

Will's eyebrows were lowered. “You're happy he's dead?”

 

Emelia Watson gave Will a hard, assessing look. Whatever it was she was searching for, she clearly found it in his serious, confused face. Without breaking eye contact with him, she unbuttoned her white silk blouse with steady fingers.

 

Hannibal watched realisation dawn on Will's face as she revealed her fresh purple bruises. They had stained her milky skin like blackberry juice.

 

“Thank you, Mrs Watson,” Will said quietly.

 

He was staring straight at Hannibal as he left the room and came around to them.

 

“Is she telling the truth?” Jack asked.

 

“Yes, she is,” Will said. He sounded certain. “The killer knew that he was abusing her. That was why he was chosen- or at least, a big part of the reason. But she had nothing to do with it.”

 

They left Alana to help Mrs Watson and returned to the car. Hannibal was aware of Will's eyes on him constantly.

 

“What is it, Will?” he asked finally, as they left the car park.

 

“You saved her.”

 

“No.” Hannibal frowned. “I am mostly darkness, Will. I do not save people.”

 

Will actually chuckled. “I understand that you kill people because they annoy you, or because you see them as rude or discourteous. However, this time you chose for another reason, didn't you?”

 

Hannibal was scowling. He had wanted Will to feel better, but he felt uncomfortable with him knowing the truth.

 

“You were mostly darkness before, but I've changed you.”

 

“We are all shades of grey, Will,” he replied reluctantly, thinking back to his musings from earlier. He had been quite comfortable analysing Will, but when Will did the same to him it was unpleasant.

 

Will smirked at him. “I think I can see your grey getting paler, Hannibal.”

 

“Please don't make the mistake of thinking that I am not dangerous. Think back to last night.”

 

The smirk flickered.


	3. Part 3

Will dreamt that he killed Hannibal.

 

It was intimate. Hannibal's eyes twinkled up at him, a smirk twisted his lips, even as Will bloodied them with his fist. He looked up and saw Abigail watching, a tear rolling down her face. Wordlessly, she pointed at the body.

 

He looked down again. Hannibal's bloodied face had been replaced by his own. Will Graham stared at Will Graham, one dying, bloody and grinning, the other wide-eyed and horrified.

 

“Wake up,” Hannibal whispered against his temple. “Wake up.”

 

Will jerked awake, his head hurting. Hannibal was holding him close, murmuring words of comfort, but for a moment Will couldn't hear them. The image of his own leering face haunted him.

 

Was he _becoming_ Hannibal? Had he allowed empathy to take him too far?

 

“Will, look at me.”

 

Will stared at Hannibal, becoming aware that his night sweats were back; he was hot and damp, and the hair that Hannibal was pushing back from his face was soaked. He half-expected Hannibal's concerned face to morph into his own.

 

“Did you dream I was killing again?” Hannibal asked gently.

 

“No.” Will struggled out of Hannibal's arms and pushed himself to the edge of the bed, needing to cool down, needing to focus. He covered his eyes with his hands.

 

Hannibal said nothing. He was absolutely still as he waited for Will to explain.

 

“It was me. I was killing you.” Will took a ragged breath. “Abigail was there. Then you changed in to me... I had killed myself.”

 

“How did you do it?” Hannibal prompted gently.

 

“With my hands.”

 

“Do you think about killing me?” Hannibal asked. The question was matter-of-fact.

 

Will was annoyed. “What sort of question is that? Do  _you_ think about killing  _me_ ?”

 

There was a long pause. Will wanted to turn to Hannibal, but forced himself not to. He heard Hannibal sit up slowly.

 

“I no longer think about killing you,” Hannibal said finally.

 

It wasn't a surprise to Will; he already knew that Hannibal had seriously considered killing him the night that this had all started, the night when Hannibal had saved him from another killer. Hannibal had probably considered killing him several times before that. It was what he did, who he was. But hearing the words spoken aloud was almost unbearably painful.

 

“I'm going to shower,” he said, standing up and stalking to the bathroom without looking around.

 

At breakfast, Hannibal was smiling at Abigail as he poached eggs. She was laughing at his jokes, an innocent smile lighting up her features.

 

Will watched them quietly, thoughtfully. To an outsider, Abigail could be Hannibal's daughter. The moment was so natural, so touching.

 

Did Abigail know the truth about Hannibal? Had he told her?

 

Will didn't want to know the answers to those questions. He hated himself enough for staying with Hannibal despite knowing the truth- if he found out that Abigail was staying with the same knowledge, it might tarnish his opinion of her.

 

He hated himself even more when he realised this.

 

“Are you alright, Will? You're scowling into that coffee,” Abigail said brightly.

 

“He did not sleep well,” Hannibal said calmly.

 

Will forced a smile for Abigail. “I'm fine.”

 

There was a knock at the door. Abigail bounded off to open it, leaving Will alone to frown at Hannibal.

 

“Are you going to be this way every time you have a nightmare?” Hannibal asked in condescending tones, raising an eyebrow at Will.

 

“If you don't like it, feel free to just kill me and get it over with,” Will said, aware that he sounded like a petulant child.

 

To his annoyance, Hannibal just smiled gently. He placed the fork he was holding down and crossed over to Will, placing his hands on his shoulders. “A life without you is not one I wish to live,” he murmured, repeating words he had used before.

 

The bad mood lifted. “I love you,” Will said, turning so that he could kiss Hannibal's fingers.

 

Hannibal smiled and bent down to kiss him gently.

 

“How touching,” said a female voice, and they turned to see Freddie Lounds in the kitchen doorway. She was a vivid image of lime green and coppery curls, a cold smile on her face. Abigail stood behind her.

 

“Miss Lounds, we were not expecting you,” Hannibal said, perfectly polite but utterly glacial. Will could almost taste his desire to kill the woman.

 

“I dropped by to speak to Abigail about her book,” Freddie said.

 

She had dropped by to see if the stories about Hannibal and Will's relationship were true. There was a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

 

“Are you still going ahead with that thing?” Will asked, trying to ignore Freddie's smug face and appealing to Abigail over her shoulder. “I said I didn't think it was a good idea.”

 

“It has a new, happy ending,” Freddie chirped. “Abigail gets taken in by the two men who saved her, who have formed an unlikely romantic attachment after bonding over that fateful day.”

 

“I really am not sure I would choose 'unlikely' as the adjective to describe this 'romantic attachment',” Will said dryly. Hannibal was just glaring at her, _murder_ written plainly across his eyes.

 

“Abigail-” he said, a warning in his tone, but Freddie began to speak over the top of him. Will smiled humourlessly. _You're well and truly at the top of his list now._

 

“Are there any plans for a wedding?” she asked. “That would be a touching ending.”

 

Will glanced at Hannibal, a sly smile crossing his face. “What do you think, Hannibal? Is there a wedding on the cards?”

 

“Abigail, please feel free to use the dining room for your discussion with Miss Lounds,” Hannibal said, in a voice that nobody would dare argue with.

 

Abigail and Freddie left, the latter casting a disappointed glance over her shoulder as they went to the dining room. Hannibal turned to Will and, to Will's great surprise, dropped to one knee before him.

 

Shit.

 

“Will Graham,” he said quietly, looking up with earnest eyes as Will's heart began to race, “my dearest, most treasured Will Graham, you are the most important thing in my life, and it would mean the world to me if you agreed... to let me murder Freddie Lounds.”

 

Will burst out laughing despite himself, offering Hannibal his hand and tugging him back to his feet. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the most grim sense of humour?”

 

“No, but that is perhaps because I have never shared it with anyone as openly as I do with you.”

 

Will squeezed his fingers. “The answer is no, by the way.”

 

“You have wounded me. I believe I would feel less disappointed to hear you say no to an actual marriage proposal.”

 

Will took a deep breath. “Well, you'll never find out.”

 

“You think I would not ask you to marry me?” Hannibal asked, his brow furrowing.

 

“I think I would say yes,” Will replied, aware that he had gone a little pink.

 

Emotions passed rapidly across Hannibal's face, and he visibly swallowed. Finally, he smiled gently. “Good.”

 

Will smiled back at him. Hannibal went back to his cooking, brandishing the fork with clinical ease.

 

“Now, about Freddie Lounds...” he said.

 

“For the last time, Hannibal, no!”

 

Hannibal let out a long-suffering sigh. “If you insist, dear Will.”


	4. Part 4

It was raining. Dull raindrops splattered the windows incessantly, and the room was filled with a surreal silver light.

 

It had been Hannibal's idea to have a session. Will had been reluctant, but Hannibal always got his way, and so they were sitting opposite each other in his office.

 

Hannibal watched Will closely, paying careful attention to his eyes. There had been a definite change in him over the past couple of months. He smiled more; in fact, there were creases on his face from smiling. Hannibal knew that the same could be said of him.

 

He made eye contact more, with more confidence. Right now, his eyes were burning with some resentment and confusion into Hannibal's.

 

He still dressed poorly. Right now, he was sporting a baggy checked shirt and loose jeans. He hadn't combed his hair and his beard needed a trim. You couldn't, as it turned out, have everything you wanted.

 

“You are still having nightmares,” Hannibal said gently.

 

Will raised an eyebrow. “That's what you want to talk about, Doctor Lecter? Honestly, I don't understand why we couldn't have this conversation elsewhere.”

 

“The nightmares, Will,” Hannibal said, slightly firmer.

 

Will rolled his eyes, making Hannibal narrow his slightly. “Yes. Sometimes I see you killing people. Sometimes I see me killing you, but then you always change into me and I've killed myself.”

 

“What do you think they mean?”

 

Will paused. Hannibal sometimes thought that he could stare at Will forever and still want to look longer. He had such an open face. He looked very attractive when he was thinking, which was often. “It's quite obvious, surely?” Will replied finally. “I'm concerned about you killing people, and I'm concerned that I'm turning into you.”

 

“Loss of identity, to some extent, is common in a relationship,” Hannibal mused.

 

“I suppose the only concerning thing is whose personality I am starting to take on,” Will quipped.

 

Hannibal smiled softly. Will really was not happy about having to do this.

 

“Do you think that you're becoming more like me?” Will asked.

 

Hannibal considered the question. His gut instinct was to declare firmly that he wasn't, that he didn't change and never would. However, it wasn't true. Sharing his life with another was something utterly alien to him, although it was alien to Will also. But he had changed to be like Will in other ways. A softer version of himself. His choice of victim had been entirely down to Will's influence. _I think I can see your grey getting paler, Hannibal._ Will's words taunted him.

 

“I am perhaps taking on some of your more socially acceptable traits, yes.”

 

“How does that make you feel?”

 

Hannibal smiled and leaned forward. “I believe it is my job to ask you that question, Mr Graham.”

 

Will flashed a smile. “My apologies. Please carry on.”

 

“What concerns you the most?”

 

Will glanced away, clearly thinking hard about his answer. He narrowed his mouth thoughtfully. His eyes had become sad. “I worry about how this will end.”

 

“As humans, it is difficult to merely live in the moment and be satisfied by it. What in particular is concerning you?”

 

“I suppose I should worry about you growing tired of this, and killing me-”

 

“That won't happen,” Hannibal interrupted, breaking his own rule about it. “It is important to me that you know that.”

 

Will shrugged. “I do. What concerns me is how this will play out in the long term. You can't expect to keep doing what you do forever without getting caught. It can only end in fire.”

 

“What an interesting choice of phrasing. What do you mean?”

 

Will looked at him, hard, eyes blazing and bright with tears. “A life without you is not one I wish to live,” he said, throwing Hannibal's own words back at him.

 

Hannibal swallowed. “Have you considered the idea that this 'ending in fire' might be better for you and Abigail? Fire cleanses. Fire symbolises rebirth. I am not exactly  _good_ for either of you, am I?”

 

“Perhaps not in the traditional sense,” Will conceded. “I do worry about Abigail.”

 

“Our child of darkness. What about her concerns you?”

 

“Does she know about you?” Will asked quietly, and Hannibal could sense that it had taken him a great deal of bravery to ask.

 

“No.”

 

“Do you intend to tell her?”

 

“No.” Hannibal decided to be honest. He frowned and leaned back, away from Will. “However, she is an intelligent girl. She lived with her father for a long time. She may work it out.”

 

“Then what?” Will asked, and he was tense. Hannibal could see that he had set his jaw, and his hands had rolled into fists. Interesting.

 

“I honestly do not know.”

 

“Do you think she could forgive you? Live with it?”

 

“She loves me.” Hannibal shrugged. “It may not be enough. I cannot say.”

 

“Do you love her?”

 

Hannibal did not have to think about his answer. “Yes.”

 

Will relaxed, apparently satisfied that this meant she was safe. Hannibal wanted to probe him further, but sensed it was not a good idea. Abigail was safe, but it wasn't in the same way that Will was. He loved her- he felt paternal feelings he had always thought himself incapable of. It was a simpler sort of affection.

 

“Is Freddie Lounds still joining us for dinner?” Will asked, blessedly changing the subject.

 

“Unfortunately not in the way I would prefer.” It had been three weeks since Freddie Lounds had turned up at breakfast. Since then, she had turned up twice more under the pretence of talking to Abigail about the book. Hannibal had finally decided to simply invite her to dinner.

 

Will nodded, and stood up suddenly, crossing to the window. Hannibal watched him from his chair, admiring his strong form, thinking again how much he disliked that shirt. Will tucked his hands into his pockets and looked out at the rain.

 

They were silent for a few minutes. Will had signified that their session was at an end by standing up; clearly, he had humoured Hannibal as much as he was prepared to do so. Hannibal was thinking about the sessions they had before that night when he had found Will and saved his life.

 

How ardently he had admired Will, how passionately he had longed for him. He could hardly believe Will was now his.

 

Marriage had been on his mind since Freddie Lounds had mentioned it. He had certainly never been interested in marriage, even in the first few months with Will, but there had been something satisfying about the idea of it.

 

He loved Will. There were some things he could never do for him, but marriage was a very real possibility.

 

It might help Will feel better about the future. Hannibal would never admit it to Will, but it would help him feel better, too.

 

“Are you happy?” Will asked suddenly, still staring at the rain.

 

Hannibal stood up, fastening his suit jacket and crossing the room to Will. He rested his hand on Will's back, which was burning beneath the shirt. “Why do you ask?”

 

Will looked up at him. “Are you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Does it scare you?”

 

The question caught Hannibal off-guard. Fear was not an emotion he had a lot of experience with, particularly in recent years. As he looked down at Will, looked into the face he had come to know so intimately, he exhaled slowly. “I fear losing you.”

 

Will nodded. He didn't reply. Slipping his arms around Hannibal's waist, he pressed his face into the suit jacket, his head tucked beneath Hannibal's chin. Hannibal held him tightly, wondering for a second why they hadn't ended every session like this before their relationship had started. This close, he could feel every beat of Will's heart, smell the familiar scent of soap and wood.

 

Will was still in a thoughtful mood hours later. He had changed into a clean shirt- this one thankfully tighter and a pleasing shade of grey- and he had trimmed his beard. He was staring into his wine glass when Freddie arrived.

 

Hannibal answered the door and forced himself to be as charming as possible. She was wearing a wide-brimmed hat which she removed as she entered, her overpowering perfume engulfing his senses for a moment.

 

“It smells delicious,” she said, and he was astonished that she could smell anything other than herself.

 

“Thank you.”

 

In the dining room, Abigail was very excited. She had some strange attachment to Freddie, and she was thrilled that Hannibal and Will had finally agreed to allow her to come over officially. Hannibal observed the hug that Freddie greeted Abigail with closely; to his great surprise, he was sure that Freddie genuinely cared about Abigail. There was something authentic about her in that moment, something that was obviously absent the rest of the time.

 

“You look unhappy, Will,” Freddie observed as she sat down. “Hannibal not treating you as well as you deserve?”

 

Will raised an eyebrow. “You could at least wait until the main course before you start digging for material for your book.”

 

Hannibal smiled privately, satisfied that Will could handle himself, and went to fetch the soup. When he returned to the dining room, Freddie was leaning across the table, talking intensely to Will.

 

“To be honest, tonight I'm more interested in material about the Watson murder. Did you tell Jack Crawford that you thought it was the work of the Chesapeake Ripper?”

 

Will took a calculated mouthful of soup before replying. “I did not.”

 

Hannibal looked mildly from Will to Freddie, who was ignoring her soup entirely and focusing on Will, her eyes ablaze. He didn't like the woman, but she certainly did not lack for passion. “There were organs missing,” she said.

 

“The Chesapeake Ripper is not the only killer who takes organs,” Will replied.

 

“Jack Crawford thinks it was the Ripper.”

 

Will shrugged. He was presenting a front of absolute calm. “If he does, he hasn't spoken to me about it. I didn't sense the Ripper.”

 

“He is going to call you tomorrow.”

 

“Who did you have to sleep with to get this information?” Will asked, clearly exasperated.

 

Freddie laughed.

 

“Miss Lounds, your soup is growing cold,” Hannibal said.

 

She lifted her spoon, but didn't eat any soup, instead focusing on Will. “Do you feel like you can empathise with killers more effectively now that you've killed two men? First Garret Jacob Hobbs, then Greg Walker.”

  
Hannibal narrowed his eyes, ready to intervene, but Will merely smiled and leaned forward, meeting her intense gaze. “I have what has been termed an 'empathy disorder', Freddie; killing people doesn't improve it.” He bared his teeth slightly, and Hannibal was reminded of the night he had killed Greg Walker; he had been primal and beautiful. “It doesn't affect my state of mind whatsoever.”

 

Freddie leaned away from him, defeated, and finally began eating her soup.

 

Beneath the table, Hannibal squeezed Will's knee.

 

“Doctor Lecter, how are you finding having Abigail around?” Freddie asked, as if the last few uncomfortable moments had never happened. He wondered if she was recording their conversation.

 

Hannibal smiled at Abigail, and she beamed back at him. Looking at her now, it was almost impossible to notice that anything bad had happened to her at all. “It has been the greatest challenge of my life, but also the most rewarding,” he said easily.

 

“Would you say that Abigail is the daughter you always wanted?”

 

Hannibal was still smiling. “I would say that this is the family I never knew I needed.”


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a short one, I’m afraid; I ended up having surgery on my hand on Tuesday after all (which was super cool) so now I am struggling to type more than ever. Apologies and much love to all of you cuties who are reading this.

Will turned the journal over in his fingers.

 

He had never read it. He had never even opened it. It was likely that he would never bring himself to do so.

 

To face the magnitude of Hannibal's crimes in such a way was more than he could handle.

 

He supposed he could destroy the journal, although Hannibal had insisted that he keep it safe. He had moved the journal into their bedroom. He didn't have a box of important things and treasured memories, but he did have an old shoebox filled with bank statements, so that was where he stashed it.

 

Jack had called him twenty minutes ago, as Freddie had predicted last night, but Will was trying to put off leaving. He didn't want to talk about the Chesapeake Ripper.

 

Unfortunately, he wasn't lucky enough to have a choice. He sighed as he laced up his shoes. He needed to snap out of this mood.

 

He was shrugging into his coat when he entered the kitchen. Hannibal was making some notes on one of the small cards he kept his recipes on. He glanced up and smiled gently at Will.

 

“I have some free time if you would like me to come with you,” he offered.

 

Will found himself smiling back despite his bad mood, and he crossed to Hannibal to drop a tender kiss on his forehead. It was strange how comfortable they had both grown with this level of domesticity. “It's fine,” he said. “I will be back for dinner.”

 

In his car, he turned the radio up loudly and hoped that the upbeat pop music would relax him. It didn't take a long time before the sound was irritating him, and he turned it off.

 

It was still raining, and the drops pattered the car in a soothing way. He had to focus on the front he was going to present to Jack. He had to make Jack believe that the murder was nothing to do with the Chesapeake Ripper.

 

Everything would be over if Jack ever worked out that Hannibal was the Ripper.

 

It was unbelievably selfish of him, but Will was determined not to let that happen. He concentrated on what he was going to say for the entire rest of the journey.

 

Jack stood up as he entered the office. “Will, thank you for coming in.”

 

“It's not a problem. We had Freddie Lounds over for dinner last night; you might want to double check nobody is talking to her. She knew you were going to call me in today.” Will shrugged off his jacket and sat down.

 

Jack frowned. “That woman is a damn nuisance. I'm going to have to have another word with Zeller about her.”

 

“She said you wanted to talk about the Chesapeake Ripper.” Will kept his tone light, politely confused.

 

“The person who killed Ed Watson did so with surgical precision, and they took organs.”

 

Will forced the doubtful frown he had rehearsed in the car. “The body wasn't presented in the usual style of the-”

 

“I know that.” Jack looked exhausted. “I just have a hunch. I have a feeling the Ripper is actually responsible for a lot more crimes than we give him credit for.”

 

“Unfortunately, you're probably right,” Will said honestly. “However, the Ripper is not a vigilante.”

 

“A 'vigilante'? That's who you think did this?”

 

“Somebody who knew what Ed Watson was doing to his wife. Somebody who wanted it stopped. That's not how the Ripper operates, Jack.”

 

Jack closed his eyes briefly. “These past few weeks, I've been able to _feel_ the Ripper around the case.”

 

“You want to catch him, Jack. That's not a bad thing.” _Except that it was._ “But he's not involved in this case.”

 

Jack nodded reluctantly. Will watched him carefully, feeling guilty as sin. Jack was  _right_ , but Will had to ensure that he never realised it. He had never hated himself more.

 

“Alana is interviewing Emelia Watson,” Jack said finally. “The other possibility is that Emelia was having an affair, and the other man was the killer.”

 

“I don't think she was having an affair,” said Will truthfully, thinking back to Emelia Watson's sad, watery eyes.

 

Jack raised his open palms. “Then I'm out of ideas, Will. You say it's a vigilante. Will he strike again? Kill another abusive husband?”

 

“He will strike again. He will choose someone who deserves it.”

 

Jack nodded. “Go and help Alana.”

 

Alana Bloom and Emelia Watson were strangely juxtaposed across the table. Alana was classically beautiful, bright, loving; Emelia was pretty but visibly detached, shrunken within herself. Two strong women, strong in different ways, talking quietly.

 

Alana turned to Will when he entered, and he had the familiar sensation of looking at his only chance for a normal life, the chance he had allowed to escape.

 

She gave him a small smile. “Will, are you here to talk to Mrs Watson?”

 

“I am, if that's fine with you both?”

 

Alana nodded, and looked questioningly at Emelia, who inclined her head. Will sat down.

 

“Doctor Bloom thinks I was having an affair,” Emelia told Will.

 

“I was merely asking-”

 

“I know you weren't having an affair,” Will said. He glanced at Alana. “So does Doctor Bloom. We're just trying to figure out who might have done this.”

 

Emelia smiled. “I truly have no idea, but if you find out I would love to buy them a drink.”

 

The words haunted Will as he escorted Alana back to Jack's office. Hannibal had done something good. Despite his own beliefs that he was evil, beyond redemption, he had saved a woman from a life of unspeakable misery. Will was almost smiling.

  
“How are things with Hannibal?” Alana asked.

 

“Good. Surprisingly so.”

 

“Will...” Alana stopped walking, reached out and caught his hand. He looked at her, confused. “I just wanted to say that I'm happy for you. For both of you.”

 

He smiled. “Thanks, Alana.”

 

She nodded, and they continued walking back to Jack in companionable silence. Will felt content. He had successfully managed to turn Jack off the scent of the Chesapeake Ripper, and Emelia Watson was clearly grateful to Hannibal.

 

Maybe life  _could_ work out. Perhaps there was a way for this not to end, but to continue, a beautiful happy ever after for them. It would be strange, and unconventional, but maybe there was a way.

 

“She's not having an affair,” Alana said to Jack.

 

Jack looked away, defeated. “Damn. Will, you said he would kill again?”

 

“Yes,” Will replied.

 

“We'll just have to catch him next time he does,” Jack said.

 

Will felt guilty for how happy he felt as he stepped back outside into the rain. He  _shouldn't_ be happy about Jack struggling to find the killer. It was his job to make sure that killers were found.

 

Was it so bad that he wanted to change Hannibal? Not entirely; he knew he would never manage to persuade him to stop killing altogether. He had accepted that now. But what if he could mould Hannibal just slightly, make it so that he targeted people who deserved to die?

 

It was an interesting thought, one that he lingered on as he pulled the collar of his coat up as high as he could and crossed the car park quickly, the cold rain stinging his face.

 

There was a woman sitting on the hood of his car.

 

He couldn't properly make out her face beneath the black umbrella she was clutching in one leather-gloved hand, but she was wearing a black coat over a pencil skirt and pointy heels. There was something very formal about her slim, erect figure.

 

Will felt a sense of foreboding he couldn't explain.

 

“Can I help you?” he asked as he reached the car.

 

She looked at him, tipping the umbrella back slightly. She had carefully curled blonde hair and a frosty face; she was older, but still very beautiful. This close, he could smell her expensive perfume, which was all hints of violet and roses.

 

“Will Graham,” she said slowly.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I need to talk to you.” She spoke slowly, in controlled and measured tones.

 

“I have to go. You can leave a message inside for me-” Will didn't know why he was so desperate to get away from this woman and her bright, intelligent eyes.

 

She raised a hand to silence him. “My name is Bedelia Du Maurier.”

 

He shook his head, indicating that he had no idea who she was.

 

“I am Hannibal Lecter's psychiatrist. I believe that you are in danger. I believe that Abigail Hobbs is in danger.”


	6. Part 6

Abigail had fallen asleep in front of the television. Hannibal smiled at her fondly, turning it off. He retrieved a blanket and covered her with it gently, stroking her hair very softly.

 

He had some reports to write, but it just didn't feel like the right sort of afternoon for it.

 

He sat down opposite Abigail, cross-legged on the floor, suit jacket abandoned and shirt sleeves rolled up, and began to sketch her. This moment was precious.

 

The light was starting to fade when Will came in. Hannibal heard him hanging up his coat and clattering about in the hallway, and he could tell that there was something wrong. There was too much force in his actions.

 

Will appeared in the doorway, his face serious, pushing his curls back from his eyes. There were words in his mouth but Hannibal saw them fade away as he stared at Hannibal.

 

Hannibal put the paper and pencil down and opened his arms, inviting Will over. Will hesitated, then crossed to him, sitting down beside him and leaning against Hannibal's chest, tucking his head beneath his chin. Will's hair was damp from the rain, and he smelled fresh.

 

He was shaking.

 

Hannibal tried to figure out what might have happened, but he couldn't think of anything.

 

“Your psychiatrist visited me today,” Will said quietly.

 

Hannibal stiffened. He felt the vague stirrings of anger, of betrayal, but he focused on staying calm. “What did she want?” he asked.

 

“She said we were in danger,” Will whispered. “Abigail and I.” He drew slightly back from Hannibal, glanced over at Abigail's sleeping form.

 

“In danger from me,” Hannibal deduced.

 

“Yes. I told her I didn't want to speak to her, but she told me you were dangerous.”

 

“I suppose it is noble of her to try to save you from the danger she suspects you are in.”

 

Will looked at him. “How much does she know?”

 

Hannibal frowned slightly, looked away. He had manipulated Bedelia until she was utterly in his debt, thinking that was enough to keep her from meddling too deeply in his affairs. But through doing that, he had revealed a lot of himself to her- more, in fact, than anyone except Will.

 

“Too much,” he said softly, and Will pulled away from him.

 

“Hannibal- you can't.”

 

“If she goes to Jack Crawford, everything will be over.”

 

“She doesn't _deserve_ it.”

 

Hannibal reached out and cupped Will's cheek, dismayed to feel sad at the disappointment he saw lurking in Will's eyes. “I told you I can't change, Will.”

 

Abigail woke up then, alerting them with a loud yawn. They both turned to look at her, Will moving his face back from Hannibal's touch. She smiled sleepily at them.

 

“Look at you two,” she said.

 

“Look at you, all sleepy on the couch,” Will said, and he forced the most genuine fake smile Hannibal had ever seen on his face. He stood up and crossed to Abigail, smoothing her hair with the same soft touch Hannibal himself had used earlier.

 

He couldn't lose this. No matter the cost, no matter how disappointed Will would be, Hannibal could not let anything take his family away from him.

 

“I love you both,” he said suddenly, overwhelmed by the need to make sure that they knew.

 

Abigail smiled at him; Will frowned slightly.

 

“I'll make dinner tonight,” Will announced suddenly, and Hannibal raised an eyebrow at him.

 

Dinner was a limp chicken salad. Hannibal had decided not to interfere in the cooking, unable to understand Will's desire to do it, and the result was disappointing. However, he forced himself to eat it with a smile, and when he made eye contact with Abigail across the table he could see that she was doing the same thing.

 

“This is delicious,” he said politely.

 

“Unbelievably so,” Abigail added, lips twitching.

 

Will scowled, but there was a twinkle in his eye that suggested he was trying not to laugh. “Shut up.”

 

Abigail burst out laughing. They ended up feeding the leftovers to the dogs.

 

“Even Winston looks disappointed,” Abigail observed solemnly.

 

Hannibal and Will were both chuckling after they said goodnight to Abigail and retired to their bedroom. Will leaned against Hannibal and for a moment Hannibal could forget that Will was disappointed in him. His eyes glittered and he was wearing a bright smile.

 

Hannibal leaned down and kissed him, tasting his laughter. It was precious and rare.

 

As he went to draw back, Will reached up and held his chin, gently but with strength, holding his face less than an inch from Will's own. This close, Will's beautiful stormy eyes blended into one, so that all Hannibal could see was disappointment and love.

 

“Hannibal, please don't,” he said, the words tickling Hannibal's chin.

 

“You are mine,” Hannibal said, allowing Will to continue holding him still. “Abigail is our family. I have to protect you both.”

 

“She's trying to help us,” Will whispered. “She doesn't deserve to be punished for that.”

 

“It is not a punishment,” Hannibal soothed. “I will be gentle.”

 

Will released him and folded his arms, allowing Hannibal to step back and mirror the pose. All the laughter had died in Will's face now; he looked exhausted and desperate.

 

“I am not going to change my mind,” Hannibal said, as kindly as he could. “You may beg, plead and argue all you like. This is my decision. You need not feel any guilt for it.”

 

“But I will feel guilty!” Will cried, balling his hands into fists. “How do you think _Abigail_ would feel if she knew?”

 

Hannibal felt an unpleasant jolt of anger. “Don't,” he warned.

 

“Are you threatening me now? Hannibal, you can't _fucking_ -”

 

It was the swearing that did it. Fired by pure emotion, something that rarely occurred, Hannibal lifted Will with ease and dumped him hard on the bed. Will looked up at him, shocked and a little afraid, and Hannibal glared down at him.

 

“Enough of this,” Hannibal said. “Go to sleep. I will see you in the morning.”

 

“You're going _now_?” Will demanded. “I can't just let you go.”

 

Something changed in the air. They were both tense. They had gone from kissing and laughing to preparing for a fight.

 

“We could just leave,” Will said quietly, breaking the tension. “Pack up, run away.”

 

“We could,” Hannibal conceded, allowing his body to relax slightly. “I don't want that.”

 

Hannibal sat down beside Will. Will pressed himself against him once more, pressing his face into Hannibal's chest. Hannibal almost felt sorry for him. He smoothed Will's curls gently.

 

“Don't you want our family to stay together?” Hannibal asked, aware that he was being manipulative but unsure what else he could do.

 

“Of course,” Will said into his chest. “Of course I do.”

 

“I would do anything to keep you and Abigail with me,” Hannibal continued.

 

“I know.”

 

“Just go to sleep, and when you wake up, it will be over.”

 

Will looked up at him. There was longing in his eyes. He _wanted_ to agree; he looked tragic and beautiful in that moment.

 

“Please don't,” he said.

 

Hannibal was disappointed. He nodded reluctantly, kissed Will's head.

 

“Thank you,” Will said. He was shaking slightly. “Thank you. I love you.”

 

Hannibal gently pushed Will's face back against his chest, held him for a second. “I love you, too. Forgive me.”

 

The syringe in his hand glittered for a second in the light, and he injected Will's neck in a smooth motion. He heard Will's gasp.

 

Will looked up at him, hurt and betrayal flashing in his eyes, before he fell into the chemically-induced sleep.


	7. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get a whole lot darker. Enjoy.

Will woke up with a dry mouth and a headache. He gripped the sheets as he tried to muddle his way through the torrent of thoughts that overwhelmed him.

 

Hannibal had drugged him.

 

He felt sick, but the moment passed, and then the tears started to burn at his eyes.

 

Hannibal had undressed him and put a pair of pyjamas on him before tucking him up in bed. The whole thing was horrifying and absurd. How could Hannibal go from drugging his lover so that he could sneak off to commit a murder, to delicately drawing the covers up to Will's chin?

 

It was light outside. Morning. That meant that Bedelia Du Maurier was dead.

 

Will had failed, and Hannibal had failed Will.

 

When the door swung open and Hannibal strolled in, looking calm and handsome in his shirt and waistcoat and carrying a tray laden with breakfast, Will wondered if he was too ill to sit up and punch him.

 

He was. He could barely drag himself into a sitting position.

 

“I have brought you some coffee and some breakfast,” Hannibal said gently, setting the tray down. “I have also brought you some pills which will make you feel better.”

 

“You _drugged_ me,” Will managed to choke out, his throat hoarse. “Perhaps it was premature, but I thought we were past that sort of thing.”

 

Hannibal licked his lips, the tip of his tongue flicking out as he considered his answer.

 

“I assume you are angry, then,” he said.

 

“Angry doesn't come _close_ , Hannibal,” Will snarled. “How can I trust you again?”

 

“I did what I thought was best for us all,” Hannibal replied, frowning slightly.

 

“You can't make decisions on my behalf,” Will retorted.

 

Hannibal sat down on the bed, reaching out for Will's hand, but Will snatched it away as firmly as he could. The worst thing was that Hannibal looked so handsome this morning, so soft and loving in his face. No wonder he had managed to get away with being a serial killer for so long.

 

“So she's dead then?” Will asked. “Is she what I've got on my plate?”

 

“Don't be crude,” Hannibal replied. He was frowning. “As it happens, she was not at home. Perhaps you should be more concerned about the fact that there is a woman who is free with the knowledge of what I am.”

 

“Don't be manipulative. I am concerned about that.”

 

Hannibal frowned. “Don't be angry.”

 

Will glared at him. “The point of a relationship is that people make decisions together. You would rather just knock me out than listen to my opinion.”

 

“There is no compromise in a situation like this.”  


“Perhaps not, but you could at least give me enough respect to actually listen to me.”

 

Hannibal faltered. His frown deepened. “I apologise,” he said, and it was the most sincere apology Will had ever heard from him. “Really. But please tell me you understand why I did it.”

 

Will gritted his teeth. “I do,” he conceded reluctantly.

 

Hannibal reached out to touch Will's cheek, gently, his fingers ghosting over the skin. Will could have cringed away but he didn't want to.

 

“Please take these pills,” Hannibal said, offering Will a small paper cup.

 

Will resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment and popped them in his mouth, washing them down with a mouthful of coffee.

 

“I must go out,” Hannibal murmured.

 

“To find Bedelia Du Maurier?”

 

Hannibal smiled very softly. “I am taking Abigail to the library,” he said, a trace of smugness in the words.

 

Will scowled at him, then sighed, leaning into his fingers. “One day you're going to have to stop being this way,” he said.

 

“Tell me you forgive me,” Hannibal said, leaning forward.

 

“I categorically do not forgive you,” Will replied.

 

Hannibal kissed him, gently and tenderly. Will forgot everything for a moment and gave into the kiss. He was relieved that Bedelia Du Maurier was still alive. He was relieved that Hannibal hadn't killed an innocent woman.

 

“I love you,” Hannibal said, drawing back. “Stay in bed until you feel better.”

 

Will made a grumpy noise in return.

 

When he woke up several hours later, he wondered if Hannibal had made him take sleeping pills. The idea almost made him laugh. He felt much better, much clearer and brighter. He lay still in bed, breathing in the wonderful shared scent of the sheets.

 

Things would be okay. He would ask Hannibal to persuade Bedelia Du Maurier to leave town, or perhaps they could leave.

 

He heard a rattle downstairs and knew that there was somebody in the house who shouldn't be.

 

Scrabbling out of bed, he grabbed his pistol out of the top drawer and staggered out to the hall. He wondered if it was Hannibal or Abigail, but something about that felt wrong, and he knew somebody had broken in.

 

He crept down the stairs, forcing himself to stay calm.

 

She was in the kitchen, her back to Will, gloved hands rifling through a stack of recipe books and notepads. Her pretty face was twisted in concentration, and she was scowling.

 

“Freddie,” Will said.

 

She jumped at the voice, turned her head to him. Her expression was startled and scared. Will had pointed the gun at her without thinking about it, and her eyes flickered between it and his face.

 

“What are you doing?” Will asked, frowning. He didn't understand. “We let you in here freely, to question us. You don't need to break in and start going through our things.” He had a bad feeling, pounding through his veins and up into his head. “That's quite rude, Freddie.”

 

Freddie hesitated. “Hannibal's psychiatrist came to see me about an hour ago to tell me that Abigail was in danger.”

 

Will considered playing dumb, but Freddie's intelligent eyes told him that was a waste of time. “She came to see me, too.”

 

“She told me,” Freddie said. “She also told me that you didn't seem too fazed about the fact that she thinks your boyfriend is a murderer.”

 

“So you've drawn your own conclusions?”

 

Freddie looked momentarily sad. “I wanted to be wrong, Will.”  


Will tightened his grip on the gun. All he knew was that he couldn't let her leave. He felt oddly calm with this information.

 

“I'm not wrong, though, am I?”

 

“Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will told her. No going back now.

 

He felt an indescribable sense of elation as her face faltered. Was he merely reflecting Hannibal's personality or did this give him joy too?

 

“Why did you break in? Didn't you see my car outside?”

 

“I did,” Freddie said. “I knocked. There was no answer.”

 

“Why did Bedelia Du Maurier come to you?” Will asked.

 

“Because I care about Abigail.”

 

“And clearly you care about her so much that your first thought was to come here and find evidence you could publish,” Will said.

 

“I _do_ care about her. I certainly care about her more than you-”

 

Will shot her. The gun exploded with terrifying ease in his hand, three times.

 

One bullet grazed her leg. The second hit her shoulder. The third slammed into her neck.

 

Freddie Lounds crumpled to the floor, her life snuffed out.

 

Will dropped the gun. His hands were startlingly still, not shaking. He went to her, kneeling down in the blood and cradling her body. Her eyes were still open, and for a moment her lips moved. Blood gurgled from them.

 

He closed her eyes, unable to stand them staring at him. The strange sense of calm remained with him, and he sat basking in it for a while. He was covered in her blood, but he found that he didn't mind.

 

It took about twenty minutes for him to crash back into reality.

 

This was  _Freddie Lounds._ They weren't friends, no, but he knew her. She was a complex character, but essentially good. She didn't deserve to die, not according to the code he had tried to enforce on Hannibal.

 

Abigail cared about her. Abigail would be horrified by this.

 

He had killed her because it was the easiest solution.

 

He was turning into Hannibal.

 

He was shaking when he heard the front door open. He heard Hannibal calling for him, but he couldn't form words to reply.

 

Hannibal walked past the kitchen on his way to the stairs, presumably to go see Will in bed, but he must have caught sight of the red out of the corner of his eye. He froze, then turned to look.

 

Will wondered what it looked like to Hannibal; Will sat cradling Freddie's dead body his pyjamas, blood everywhere and a gun abandoned on the floor.

 

Hannibal approached slowly, staring at Will. He was still wearing his coat and gloves.

 

“Will Graham,” he said, a reverential look in his eyes.

 

“Help me, Hannibal,” Will begged.


	8. Part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can finally say that I know how this is going to end! There will be a total of 12 chapters. More darkness in this chapter. Thank you very much to everyone who has read this, left comments and generally been supportive. It really means a lot.

Will's hands were trembling as he lifted the cup of coffee to his mouth.

 

Hannibal had helped him. First, Will had been deposited in the shower, where he had sat under the stream of scalding water, watching the blood run into the plughole. He had sat there until his skin was pink and wrinkled, and when Hannibal collected him and wrapped him in a bathrobe he felt sick from too much heat.

 

Will had refused to back into the kitchen, but Hannibal assured him that everything had been taken care of. Will expected to be put to bed, and was a little surprised when Hannibal sat him down and handed him a cup of coffee before sitting down opposite him.

 

Hannibal wanted a psychiatry session.

 

He had called Alana to arrange for Abigail to stay over there. Clearly, he wanted to bask in this moment for as long as possible. He was sitting in his shirt and waistcoat, one hand propped under his chin, facing Will with an unmistakable gleam in his eyes.

 

“How do you feel, Will?” Hannibal asked gently.

 

Will wasn't sure how to answer. He didn't feel _anything_. The shutters had come down, protecting him from himself. He shook his head, trying to convey this to Hannibal.

 

Hannibal looked disappointed.

 

“I'm not a killer, Hannibal,” Will croaked out, but the words were hollow.

 

“You killed Freddie Lounds,” Hannibal said. “You killed her in our kitchen. She was unarmed. It was not self-defence.”

 

As Hannibal spoke, tears stung at Will's eyes. He blinked, looked away from Hannibal, and felt one of them escape, trailing down his cheek.

 

Hannibal didn't approach him, or speak. He simply waited.

 

“It was self-defence.”

 

The words made Hannibal raise his eyebrows. “The definition of self-defence is admittedly unclear; however, she did not attack you-”

 

“It was self-defence,” Will repeated, more loudly, still not looking at Hannibal. “She was going to take you away from me.”

 

“Did you feel that killing her was the only way to solve the problem?”

 

“It was the _easiest_ way to solve the problem,” Will replied bitterly.

 

Another pause. Will glanced at Hannibal. He looked proud.

 

“I've turned into you. I was afraid of it happening and it has.”

 

“Do you really feel that you have changed that much?” Hannibal asked softly.

 

Will was tempted to lie, out of spite, and because the look on Hannibal's face was so infuriating. But he sighed and relented. “No. You've made me release part of myself I'm not proud of.”

 

“What part is that?”

 

“The selfish part.”

 

“Do you believe that I am selfish?” Hannibal asked, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Of course I do.” Will rubbed his face with his hands. Suddenly his skin was itching. He wanted to claw at his face in frustration. “I'm a _good_ person, Hannibal. I can justify killing Garret Jacob Hobbs. I can even justify killing Greg Walker; he was planning to kill somebody. There's no justification for killing Freddie Lounds.”

 

“Did you enjoy it?” Hannibal asked.

 

“There was a moment before I killed her when I told her you were the Chesapeake Ripper. I enjoyed the look on her face, her understanding of what you are- of what I am- when I told her.”

 

“It is a privilege to reveal our true natures, particularly when we keep them hidden.” Hannibal smiled. “That is one of the reasons why our relationship makes me so content.”

 

“You once said I belong in the dark with you.”

 

“I did.”

 

“I think I do.” Will covered his eyes.

 

When he removed his hands, Hannibal was kneeling in front of him. Will looked down at him. It was rare for Hannibal to put himself in this sort of position. He was looking up at Will with love and awe.

 

Hannibal kissed Will's fingers. “I am proud of you,” he said simply.

 

“I'm not proud of myself,” Will replied.

 

Hannibal stood up, tugging Will gently to his feet and kissing him full on the mouth. Will gave in, allowing himself to be wrapped in Hannibal's arms.

 

“I want to ask you something,” Hannibal said, the words murmured into Will's ear.

 

Will nodded.

 

“Bedelia Du Maurier is a threat, Will. She threatens our life together, our life as Abigail's fathers. Help me.” Hannibal nuzzled into Will's throat. “Help me, as I have helped you.”

 

So Hannibal wanted him to assist in murdering Bedelia. Will's instinct was to refuse; he thought back to begging and pleading for her life to be spared.

 

Things had changed. Will had changed. He moved back slightly from Hannibal, staring into his eyes.

 

He nodded.

 

Hannibal smiled at him. He pulled Will back into his embrace, and Will pressed his face into his waistcoat and allowed himself to cry.

 

He mourned Freddie Lounds. He regretted what they were going to do to Bedelia Du Maurier.

 

But mostly he cried for his own loss of innocence. He cried for the loss of the man who had first met Hannibal Lecter and been vaguely annoyed by him, the man who had worn the minds of many serial killers and been repulsed by them.

 

Hannibal stroked his back and soothed him, murmuring words into his ear that he didn't understand.

 

Will was surrounded by Hannibal. His whole world was Hannibal.

 

Finally, he drew back. “How will we find her?” he asked.

 

“We are going to use your gifts, beloved. Empathise with her. She has told you that I am dangerous, to which you have responded in a way that has further provoked her suspicions. She has then told Freddie Lounds.”

 

Will frowned. “She expects that Freddie will get back in touch with her, later today or early tomorrow. She thinks that Freddie will want to interview her, although she has no interest in that. She merely wants to know what Freddie has found out.”

 

Hannibal nodded. “Yes, that sounds correct. Bedelia is not the sort of woman who would want her name splashed all over Miss Lounds' tawdry website.”

 

“She wants confirmation, so that she can go to the FBI.”

 

Hannibal nodded again.

 

“When she realises that something has happened to Freddie, she won't risk coming after her. She isn't going to go to the FBI yet. She wants to make sure that when she goes, the evidence is solid. She wants to make sure they can prove you are a killer. However, her priority is still Abigail- it was from the beginning, that's why she approached me.”

 

“She is a good woman. She will worry about the perceived threat to Abigail.”

 

“It's going to be more of a concern now that Freddie has disappeared.” Will is totally lost in his thoughts. “She will try to find someone else to help her save Abigail.”

 

Will moved out of Hannibal's arms, crossed to the window and looked out at the dark sky. His head hurt.

 

“Are you going to display Freddie's body?” he asked, unsure of what made him change the subject.

 

“Do you think we can persuade Bedelia to behave in the way we require her to by displaying Freddie Lounds?”

 

“We display the body tonight, before the morning. She will go to the only other person who can help her tomorrow night.”

 

“Jack Crawford?” Hannibal asked.

 

“No- I said before, she's not confident enough to go to the FBI, or she would have done that first.”

 

“I think you should display the body.” Hannibal walked behind Will, and slid his fingers across his cheek, turning his head to face him. His eyes were filled with expectation.

 

“My design,” Will said, very softly. Something dark fluttered at the edges of his mind.

 

“Finally.”

 

“Yes,” Will agreed.

 

Hannibal smiled at him.

 

“Where will she go tomorrow night?” Hannibal asked.

 

Will smiled grimly. “Alana Bloom.”


	9. Part 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay! I’ve had my own health problems, my 24th birthday and my mum’s been in hospital over the last couple of weeks so my writing has slowed right down. That said, I am hopefully going to be updating more regularly now. Enjoy!

Hannibal smiled at Will as they climbed out of the car at first light. Both men were exhausted, but Will felt emotionally drained while Hannibal felt elated.

 

Will needed a shower. They had worn protective plastic suits while arranging the body. Will had been sharply reminded of the night when Hannibal had saved his life that had started all this. Even though nothing had actually touched him, he felt unclean.

 

Truthfully, he didn't feel the way he thought he would. Arranging the body had been beautiful, a work of art, and while he was busy he had been able to lose himself in the design. Hannibal had stood off to one side, mostly quiet and observant.

 

He had wanted to see what Will's design looked like.

 

Will felt calm now. He left Hannibal with a tender kiss and went to shower. Under the hot water, he marvelled at how empty he was.

 

The reflection that stared back at him while he brushed his teeth was the same Will Graham it had been yesterday morning. The difference was that now the face felt like it didn't belong to him.

 

Abigail had arrived home by the time he made it down to breakfast. Despite not sleeping, Hannibal was bright-eyed and cheerful as he cooked, making small-talk with Abigail. He was so _good_ at this. Was this what he wanted for Will? For murder to become second-nature, something to fill the hours between sunset and morning?

 

“Will?” Abigail asked. “Are you okay?”

 

He forced a smile. “Fine. How was Alana?”

 

“She was great. We had a really nice time.”

 

“Good.”

 

The phone rang as Will was sipping his first coffee. He made eye contact with Hannibal before going to answer it, a strange chill settling into his stomach.

 

“Will, it's Jack.” Jack's voice was heavy.

 

Will nodded as Jack spoke to him, made the right noises and responses. As he hung up, he knew he was going to have to tell Abigail.

 

There was a knot in his throat as he looked at her. She could tell something was wrong from his expression; he could see the dread in her eyes.

 

“Abigail,” he said, and his voice was hoarse, “there's been a murder. Freddie Lounds is dead.”

 

He could see her world shatter. The noise that she made was barely human. Hannibal enclosed her in his arms as she burst into tears, pressing her face into his waistcoat.

 

“I'm sorry,” Will said, and he had never meant those words as much as he did then.

 

His eyes burned. Hannibal gave him a comforting smile over Abigail's head, but Will hated himself in that moment.

 

“We need to go, Abigail,” Hannibal said softly. “They need our help.”

 

“Can I- can I go to Alana's?” Abigail sniffled, the words muffled against Hannibal's chest.

  
“No,” Will said automatically.

 

Hannibal frowned slightly at him before looking down at Abigail. “She will have appointments, dearest. We won't be gone long.”

 

Abigail nodded, her face hidden from them. Will felt that there was a wall between them.

 

They left her in her room, and Will was shaking as they climbed back into the car. Hannibal looked at him, reaching out with a gloved hand to touch Will's face.

 

“Don't,” Will said quietly. “Please.”

 

He couldn't have explained why he didn't want to be touched. There was a huge, gaping feeling within him that he was undeserving of comfort.

 

Hannibal started the car without further comment and they set off towards the library where they had placed Freddie. The library had seemed appropriate to Will, so appropriate that he could hardly explain it when Hannibal questioned him.

 

It had been quiet and deserted when they left it earlier, but now it was a hive of activity, surrounded by yellow tape and police officers. Beverly was waiting for them, her face a grim mask.

 

“I'm sorry,” she said to them, and it seemed absurd. “I know you guys had Freddie over to dinner. I know she's been getting close to Abigail. This must be hard.”

 

Will didn't trust himself to answer. Hannibal nodded, one hand resting on Will's back.

 

“Miss Lounds was an interesting woman. It was only when I observed her with Abigail that I realised she was capable of feeling anything,” Hannibal said.

 

“How is Abigail taking it?” Beverly was leading them inside.

 

“Badly. As one might expect,” Hannibal replied.

 

The way Will would have described the crime scene if he hadn't been responsible would have been as  _elegant_ . There was minimal blood and gore. Freddie was lying down, holding her own heart in one hand.

 

“Will, Hannibal,” Jack said, approaching them, “I'm sorry. Is this the Ripper, Will?”

 

Will shook his head. “No.”

 

“Why a library?”

 

Will's eyes met Hannibal's. “Freddie Lounds' life was about words. But she used them selfishly, she hurt people with them. Whoever killed her wanted people to reflect on the bad things about Freddie.”

 

Zeller approached them. His eyes were shadowed, red rimmed, and Will remembered that he had once slept with Freddie. “That why her heart is in her hand? She's heartless?”

 

_Obviously._ “Presumably,” Will replied.

 

“This was done several hours after she was killed. She died after being shot three times.” Zeller was glaring at Will as if it was his fault. Which it was. “Why the delay?”

 

Jack put a calming hand on Zeller's shoulder but looked at Will, the question burning in his eyes.

 

“The killer didn't know what to do with the body. This wasn't something that was planned.” Will raked a hand through his hair.

 

“We're trying to figure out what Freddie was doing yesterday, but her appointments diary is a mess,” Jack said.

 

“Of course it is,” Hannibal said smoothly. “I will ask Abigail if she has any insight, however I must request that you do not speak to her formally unless there is no other option.”

 

“Of course, Hannibal,” Jack replied. “Thank you.”

 

Hannibal found this so easy. He reached out and placed his hand on Will's back again.

 

In the car, Will stared at his own knees, worrying the fabric of his gloves. He was tense and nervous, his body alight with energy. Hannibal was chewing his own lip lightly. He was typically difficult to read but Will could tell that he was thinking.

 

“We need to get Alana out of her house,” Hannibal said. “I could arrange a dinner for her and Abigail.”

 

Will nodded.

 

“I will drop you off at home. Go and suggest the idea to Abigail. I will go to Alana's and collect her. We can send them on their way and make preparations.”

 

Will nodded again. “Good plan,” he said.

 

Hannibal looked over at him and smiled suddenly. “Will, I want you to know how happy I am that I can share this with you.”

 

It seemed like a strange thing to say, but Will met Hannibal's eyes and saw acceptance. Acceptance that he had never before received from another person. He was lost.

 

He watched Hannibal drive away and sighed before heading inside the house. As he slammed the door behind him, he was aware of the heavy, oppressive feeling of _wrongness_ he had felt when Freddie Lounds had broken in.

 

“Abigail?” he called. No reply.

 

Was Bedelia in the house? He reached for his gun, very aware of the fact that if he stumbled across her he was going to kill her. He felt the cool calm that had gripped him before he killed Freddie.

 

He was a predator as he stalked through their house, listening carefully. Where was Abigail? He heard a distant sound upstairs and climbed them quickly. Murder flooded his veins, and he was high on the sense of power he felt.

 

He was excited.

 

At the top of the stairs, he heard papers rustling in the master bedroom. He felt a cruel smirk twist his face as he rounded the doorway and pointed his gun at her.

 

She was surrounded by papers and it took him a moment to realise she had dragged out every box and every file of paperwork. She was standing up, clutching Hannibal's confessional journal, her mouth hanging open as she read it.

 

Will faltered, lowering the gun. “Abigail,” he breathed. Horror flooded him.

 

Abigail looked up from the journal, her eyes glittering with tears.


	10. Part 10

Abigail's fingers were shaking. "Is this true?"

  
"Abigail, what are you doing?" Will asked. He could hear his own blood rushing. His face felt numb.

 

"Is this true?" she repeated, more loudly. She was glaring at Will. She had never looked more like a child to him than she did in that moment. Will could feel her horror, her disappointment.

 

He holstered his gun, and took a step towards her. She took a step back. He froze, and he felt a painful ache grip his stomach at her obvious fear of him.

 

"You knew about this. It's with your things- not his."

 

"Abigail-"

 

"You said you would protect me. But you know about him-"

 

"He isn't a threat to you!" Will realised he had shouted the words. He needed Abigail to believe them. "He loves you."

 

"He's a monster!" Abigail shouted back.

 

"Abigail, no. You know him-"

 

"Why are you protecting him? It's your job to stop people like him!"

 

It was true, but nobody had said it to Will. Hearing the words spoken, spat at him, made his throat clench. Shame and guilt washed over him.

 

" _Why_ , Will?"

 

"I love him," Will replied.

 

Abigail let out a cruel, humourless laugh. "Really? That's not an excuse, Will!"

 

Will felt his body grow tense. He looked at Abigail, really  _looked_ at her, allowed himself inside her head, the place he had been avoiding. "You knew about your father, didn't you?"

 

There were tears flowing freely down her pale cheeks. The hands holding the journal flexed. " _Fuck_ you, Will. This isn't like that. You chose him. You fucking chose him."

 

"I chose you, too."

 

She broke at that, dropping the journal to the floor and dropping to her knees, wrapping her arms around herself and sobbing. Will crossed to her, kneeling down and wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened but didn't push him away, and he buried his face in her hair as she sobbed against him.

 

"I'm sorry," Will murmured, smoothing her back.

 

This was horrible. He could understand Abigail's pain- hell, he didn't have to slip into her mind to understand it. It made sense. She had escaped one killer, a killer she had trusted not to betray her, and ran straight into the arms of another.

 

Two others. Will swallowed painfully. He was a killer too.

 

She drew back slightly. Her face was bright with tears. She sniffed.

 

"I thought there was something  _wrong_ this morning," she said. "I knew he was lying. He's a good liar, isn't he?"

 

"The best," Will agreed. "Is that why you did this?"

 

She looked at the papers she had scattered. "I didn't know what I was looking for."

 

Will saw a lot of himself in Abigail just then.

 

"I'll answer anything you want to ask," he offered.

 

"Did Hannibal kill Freddie Lounds?"

 

Of course that was the first question. Will wasn't sure how to answer. He took a deep breath.

 

They heard the front door open and close, and Hannibal's shoes clicking against the flooring downstairs. Will felt Abigail tense in his arms, and he instinctively pulled her closer.

 

"Will," she mumbled. It was a plea. She was begging him to protect her.

 

They heard Hannibal's footsteps coming up the stairs. He was calling out their names in a light, normal tone. He was still maintaining the mask of normality which had slipped away from their family completely.

 

He appeared in the doorway, and Will watched the act fade from his face as he took in the scattered papers, the mess, and Will holding a crying Abigail in the middle of the floor. He frowned as he saw the journal lying open beside them.

 

"Ah," he said, without emotion.

 

"Hannibal, Abigail found-" Will began.

 

Abigail suddenly scrambled out of his arms to her feet and approached Hannibal, radiating a cold fury. Will was quick to his feet after her, unspeakably aware that he had to get in between them somehow. He tried to wrap an arm around her, shield her, but she shrugged him off.

  
"Did you kill Freddie?" she asked him.

 

Hannibal met Will's eyes for a second over her head then looked back at her. "Yes," he said.

 

Abigail's hand connecting with the side of Hannibal's face seemed startingly loud. Will felt a bolt of terror and pulled her back, but Hannibal didn't move, merely blinked. His skin was growing pink. He didn't look at her as she swept past him.

 

They heard her bedroom door slam shut.

 

Will didn't know what to do. He wanted to reach out for Hannibal but it didn't seem right. The older man was still standing very still, his face oddly blank.

 

"Hannibal," Will said quietly.

 

Hannibal met his eyes. Will was surprised to see that Hannibal's eyes were damp.

 

"Promise me you won't hurt her," Will said. He wished desperately that he didn't need to make that request.

 

Hannibal swallowed visibly. He reached up to touch his cheek where she had hit him. "Of course not," he said eventually. "You- both of you- are my family."

 

Will exhaled, relief washing over him. "We're a disappointment to her."

 

Hannibal did not reply.

 

"I'm going to speak to her," Will said.

 

"I will come."

 

The two of them made their way to her room. Will wanted to hold Hannibal's hand, craved the comfort of his closeness, but he decided not to.

 

When he knocked on Abigail's door, there was no reply. They could hear her sobbing inside. Hannibal pushed the door open gently.

 

She was on the bed, hugging her knees. She eyed Hannibal warily as he approached but did not comment as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Will stood in the doorway, arms folded, terrified he was watching his family fall apart.

 

"You're the Chesapeake Ripper," Abigail said, staring at Hannibal.

 

"Yes."

 

She sniffed, reaching up to rub her face. "I don't understand. Will's job is to find you, to stop you. And now the pair of you are living together and for some reason I'm here too." Her voice was hoarse, rising in pitch as she grew more agitated.

 

Hannibal folded his hands in his lap. "I love you. I love Will. That has nothing to do with my killing."

 

Will thought it had everything to do with it, but didn't speak.

 

"I have been alone a long time, Abigail. In you two, I have found love- and acceptance."

 

Abigail took a deep breath. "Why did you kill Freddie?"

 

"There is a woman named Bedelia Du Maurier who suspects that I am not what I seem. She approached Will, concerned for the welfare of you both, and I am afraid that his reaction only furthered her suspicions. Now she is worried about you."

 

"Should she be?" Abigail asked softly.

 

Hannibal reached out and touched her cheek, gentle fingers ghosting over her skin. "No. I promise."

 

She nodded.

 

"Bedelia approached Freddie Lounds, and she broke into our home. Unfortunately, there were not many options open at that moment."

 

Abigail blinked. Will knew she wanted to accept this; she wanted to accept Hannibal.

 

"I know she was a friend of yours, Abigail. I disliked her, but I would not have harmed her otherwise."

 

Abigail moved forward and tentatively reached for Hannibal. He pulled her close, and closed his eyes. Will could see the relief on his face. The love he felt for Abigail was obvious.

 

"I think I already knew," Abigail said against his chest. "The food... the taste. It was familiar."

 

Hannibal stroked her hair. "I'm sorry, child."

 

Will and Hannibal left her. She looked exhausted. As they walked back to the main bedroom, Hannibal reached across and took hold of Will's hand.

 

Will picked up the journal. "We should burn it."

 

"Do you trust me?" Hannibal asked. His expression was naked, vulnerable.

 

Will nodded. "With my life."

 

Hannibal cupped his face and kissed him; his lips tasted salty and sad. Will lost himself in the kiss, reaching up to wrap his arms around Hannibal's neck.

 

They walked to the garden together.

 

"Alana was not at home," Hannibal said. "We will simply have to hope that she does not return."

 

"Bedelia will go there. We need to go after we have destroyed this book."

 

Outside, it was cold. The sky was a streaky orange. The wind made Will's eyes water as Hannibal lit a match and passed it to him. He touched it to the journal. It took a second for the paper to ignite, then it was wreathed in flame.

 

They watched it burn.

 

"I once said this could only end in fire," Will said.

 

"Fire cleanses. Fire symbolises rebirth."

 

Will looked up at him. "I have been reborn, haven't I?"

 

"I love you," Hannibal said. "I am proud of you."

 

Will looked back at the flames.


	11. Part 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the ending. There is an epilogue to follow, which I will post right after this, so you can read through it all.
> 
> I hesitated before posting this- the ending has been written since Monday. I originally wrote this one, then an alternative one, but then returned to this one upon rereading them this evening.

It was almost over.

 

Will tried to focus as they sat in Hannibal's car outside Alana's house, but he couldn't stop thinking about what came after this. Things could finally go back to normal- or as normal as they had ever been. Will had crossed a line when he killed Freddie, and he was about to cross another line when they killed Bedelia, and he knew Hannibal would expect him to keep killing.

 

There was no fear or dread about that. Will remembered before this mess had started, when Hannibal had shown signs of developing a conscience, of killing people who deserved it. Will could live with that.

 

He looked at Hannibal's shadowy profile.

 

"I love you," Will said.

 

Hannibal smiled at him. They were both wearing the protective suits, both armed with guns and knives. It was dark now; they had been waiting a long time for Bedelia to show up but so far she hadn't. Alana still wasn't home. Will had tried calling her but her phone was switched off.

 

"It is nice to have a partner in the darkness," Hannibal said.

 

Will shifted. He was restless. "What will we do after this?"

 

"We will go home. We will go to bed, and stay there for at least a day. Perhaps two." Hannibal's eyes flashed at him, seductive, wicked.

 

Will swallowed.

 

His phone started to ring, and he mentally cursed it. When he saw Abigail's name on the ID, he frowned and answered it.

 

"Abigail?"

 

"She's here." Abigail was breathing heavily, whispering the words.

 

"What? Abigail, stay hidden. We're on our way." Will looked at Hannibal with wide eyes.

 

Hannibal started the car and swerved out into the road erratically. He sped towards the end of Alan'a street.

 

"I'm going to kill her," Abigail whispered.

 

"Abigail- no!"

 

There were bright lights as Hannibal almost collided with another car. The phone went flying as he veered out of the way. A horn blared and Will felt his heart rise into his mouth as he met the eyes of Alana Bloom and Jack Crawford in the other car.

 

Jack had slammed on the breaks and Hannibal sped away from them, but Will couldn't forget the wide-eyed horror he had seen on Alana's face.

 

"The phone," he said, scrabbling around for it. He retrieved it from the floor but Abigail had hung up. "We have to stop her."

 

"I know." Hannibal was concentrating on the road.

 

"That was Jack and Alana."

 

"I know."

 

"Why are they together?"

 

"You need to focus, Will."

 

Will called Abigail back, but there was no answer. He was terrified, too hot and clammy beneath the plastic layer.

 

"Why did she go to our home? You believed she would approach Alana."

 

Will frowned. It didn't make sense, it didn't fit what he had figured out, and for a moment he was blank, without an answer.

 

"It's me," Will said finally, realisation blooming. "She knows what I do. She's outsmarted us."

 

There was a strange car outside their house. Hannibal stoped the car jerkily. They ran from the car up to the front door. Hannibal reached for his keys but Will shot the lock, kicking the door in, aware that he had just alerted the neighbours that something was going on.

 

He would just have to hope they got lucky. After all, he had killed two people here and none of the neighbours had noticed.

 

Nothing was more important than Abigail.

 

He was shouting her name as he ran in; Hannibal was shouting it too. Will was burning up, filled with anger, ready to kill Bedelia.

 

Abigail was in the kitchen. There was blood everywhere, a sickeningly familiar sight, scarlet on the cool white tiles. The knife was still sticking from her stomach. It must be almost exactly in the scar Greg Walker had left on her.

 

She had dragged herself into a sitting position, propped up against the counter.

 

She wasn't moving.

 

Hannibal let out an animalistic growl as he fell to his knees beside her, as Will did the same. Hannibal groped her throat for a pulse and they were both surprised when she opened her eyes.

 

"Will," she said, and there was blood on her lips. "Hannibal."

 

"Stay with her," Hannibal said. He kissed her cheek. "Don't try to speak, Abigail."

 

Will stared at him. Was Abigail dying? He wanted to kill Bedelia himself, wanted to tear her limb from limb for this mess she had created. He could see the same hatred, the same murderous darkness, reflected in Hannibal's eyes.

 

Will was reminded of the dream in which he had killed Hannibal, who had then turned into Will.

 

It was happening.

 

"Stay with her," Hannibal repeated.

 

Will nodded.

 

Hannibal left, and Will looked at Abigail. His friend. His daughter. His family. His eyes were suddenly wet with tears, and took a ragged breath as Abigail looked at him.

 

"Tried," she said. "Tried to... kill her."

 

"She stabbed you in self-defense."

 

"Yes."

 

A tear escaped and rolled down Will's face. There was so much blood. Abigail had decided to kill Bedelia because their family was threatened. She had accepted Hannibal. In fact, she had done more than accept him- she had been prepared to become like him to protect him.

 

There was a big feeling swelling up inside of Will, and he wondered if it was pride.

 

"Will Graham," said a familiar voice in the doorway.

 

He reached for his gun, but froze when he saw the small gun nestled in Bedelia's long fingers. She was pointing it at him.

 

Will's thought in that moment was that he didn't want Abigail to watch him die, and he glanced down at her, feeling a perverse sense of relief when he saw that her eyes were closed.

 

The bullet hit him in the shoulder, and the white hot pain took him to the floor.

 

She wasn't a good shot. She seemed to realise that she hadn't dealt him a fatal wound, and he heard her footsteps as she approached him.

 

"Where is Hannibal?" she asked, looking down at him.

 

Will tried to choke out an answer. The pain was almost blinding.

 

He looked over at Abigail, and was surprised that her eyes were open again. With great effort, she raised her hand and grasped the knife in her stomach.

 

Will realised what she was going to do and his eyes widened. He shouted out, and Bedelia jerked, looking around to see what had distracted him.

 

Abigail ripped the knife from her stomach, realising a powerful spurt of precious blood. She swung out and caught Bedelia in the ankle; not a deep wound, but enough to make her stumble and drop the gun.

 

Will caught her other ankle and pulled her down to him, sitting up as he did, so that she ended up in a bizarre embrace on his lap. He wrapped his hand around her throat.

 

The fear in her eyes was vindicating.

 

"I wanted to help her," she gasped.

 

Will's hand found the knife, and he plunged it into her chest, twisting it and driving it deep. She died almost instantly. Will watched the light go out in her eyes with the most painful satisfaction he had ever known.

 

Hannibal was in the doorway. He was breathing heavily, staring at Will. He looked proud.

 

Will pushed Bedelia away from him, and looked over at Abigail.

 

"She's gone," Hannibal said, and his voice was broken. He crossed the room to them, sitting down beside them. "Removing the knife from the wound quickened blood loss."

 

She had done it to save Will. He sobbed, smoothing her hair and cradling her.

 

When he looked at Hannibal, he saw that there were tears rolling down his face.

 

They looked at each other for a long time, neither speaking. There was nothing to say. They had been Abigail's fathers. There was an empty place in Will's chest. He kissed her forehead, very aware that she was gone. She was cold. Will had saved her from near-death twice now. He had not been able to do it a third time.

 

"I'm proud of you," he murmured into her hair. "I love you."

 

Hannibal took Abigail from him gently and then pulled him close. Will rested his face against Hannibal's chest.

 

There was no _after this_. The future he had imagined was gone.

 

He clung to Hannibal, terrified of letting go, terrified of what was going to happen.

 

Will was losing blood. His shoulder throbbed. He was growing weak.

 

They heard Jack shout Hannibal's name before they heard him enter the house. Hannibal stood up, pulling Will up behind him, and pointed his gun at the doorway.

 

Will looked at Hannibal. There was blood all over him. His eyes were burning.

 

This was the man he loved. The man he had allowed himself to love, despite knowing the horrible truth about him.

 

He had allowed himself to be pulled into the darkness with him.

 

He was standing beside Hannibal when Jack and Alana came in.

 

Jack was holding his gun. Alana was unarmed. Hannibal shot Jack without hesitation, a shot to the stomach which sent him sprawling to the floor.

 

"Hannibal," Alana said, as he turned the gun to her. She was pale, her eyes wide and unbelieving.

 

She looked at Hannibal and Will, then at Bedelia, and finally at Abigail. She covered her mouth with her hand, making a choked sound.

 

"Hannibal, you..."

 

There were blue and red lights outside. Hannibal's finger curled around the trigger, and Will might have been able to let him go through with it, might have agreed to try to fight their way to freedom with Hannibal, if Alana hadn't looked at him.

 

Her eyes were bright with fear and confusion. She trusted Will. Even now, she was appealing to him.

 

Will hated himself.

 

He covered Hannibal's hand with his own and gently pushed the gun down. "It's over," he said. "It's over."

 

Hannibal looked down at him, and Will didn't see the disappointment he expected to see in his expression. He saw acceptance.

 

"Dear Will," Hannibal said quietly. He reached out and brushed Will's cheek as he had done countless times before this. "Remarkable Will."

 

Will was crying. He had forgotten Alana was still watching them. He had forgotten everything except the overwhelming knowledge that this might be the last time he ever had a moment like this with Hannibal Lecter.

 

Everything had gone so wrong.

 

"I love you," Will said, as police officers stormed into the house.

 

Hannibal's lips met his, a burning, fierce kiss that tasted of blood and tears.

 

Will was pulled away from Hannibal, his hands cuffed. He did not resist; nor did Hannibal, who allowed himself to be restrained by two officers.

 

Will couldn't look. He didn't want to watch the man he loved lose his freedom. He stared at Abigail instead as Hannibal was taken away.


	12. Part 12

_Five years later_

 

Will did not particularly care for Doctor Frederick Chilton. Chilton stared at him openly every time they encountered each other, hungry to probe Will's fascinating brain.

 

Will often fantasised about killing him. He often fantasised about killing a lot of people, these days.

 

They sat opposite each other, Will glaring coldly at him.

 

“How are you feeling today, Mr Graham?”

 

“Skip the pleasantries, Doctor Chilton. You're not my friend.”

 

“You don't have friends, Mr Graham.” Chilton raised his eyebrows at Will. “It might be beneficial for you to finally talk about what happened.”

 

They were sitting in the privacy room of the facility, on opposite sides of the table. Will wondered how easy it would be to kill him; Chilton would break easily, he thought.

 

“Doctor Lecter is far more cooperative than you are,” Chilton observed.

 

“He's manipulating you. It's what he does.”

 

Will told Chilton that because he knew Chilton didn't believe it. He was an egotistical little man who believed that he was on the verge of a breakthrough with Hannibal.

 

Indeed, Chilton gave a smug chuckle. “I believe I know my patient better than you do.”

 

“Luckily for you, that isn't the case.” Will leaned back in his chair. “Kindly have Hannibal brought in, please. You're wasting my time. The lawyer will not be best pleased if he finds out that you're wasting my court-appointed time with Hannibal. Again.”

 

“Other visitors to this facility are a lot more polite than you are, Mr Graham,” Chilton said, standing up.

 

Will smiled dryly. “Other visitors to this facility are safe in the knowledge that they probably don't belong somewhere like this.”

 

Chilton paled and left. Will sighed.

 

It had been a long five years. Initially arrested for murder along with Hannibal, Will's charges had been reduced to a charge of manslaughter on account of diminished responsibility and imperfect self-defense.

 

Hannibal paid for Will to have a brilliant lawyer, who told the court how an emotionally vulnerable empath had been groomed and manipulated by a cruel serial killer, who had used the empath's relationship with a young girl whose life they had saved together as leverage.

 

Will had served six months in prison. He had been glad to avoid ending up in the facility he was currently sitting in.

 

Prison had been hard for a man like Will. It would have broken him, but he had been broken when he arrived. It hardened him.

 

Hannibal, on the other hand, had revealed to the world that he was the Chesapeake Ripper, and he had been placed in Chilton's facility for the rest of his life.

 

The first time Will had seen Hannibal in person after their arrests was at Abigail's funeral. Will had no idea how the lawyers had managed to get them both permission to attend. Abigail had no family to contest their presence, and the pair had been brought in.

 

Forced to sit at opposite ends of the room, never allowed to speak, Will and Hannibal had looked ridiculously out of place in their garish jumpsuits, flanked by police. Alana and Jack were both there, Jack looking weak and unwell but alive.

 

Hannibal had looked at Will once that day, after the ceremony when he was being escorted back to the van. His eyes told Will that he was sorry.

 

When Will had been released from prison almost six months later, he found out that he had joint access to Hannibal's possessions and assets. He couldn't face going to live in the house they had shared, and he moved back to his little house in Wolf Trap, blessedly cut off from the world.

 

Eight months after that, the lawyer had informed him that he had permission to visit Hannibal, and he had been going once a month ever since.

 

The guards brought Hannibal in and cuffed him to the table. They were gentle with him, but it still hurt Will to see him handled like this.

 

“Hello, Hannibal,” he said, when they were alone.

 

Hannibal smiled at him. He had more wrinkles than five years ago, and his hair was almost entirely grey. Watching Hannibal change was Will's favourite way to keep track of time passing.

 

He was getting older himself; there was grey hair at his temples and in his beard. He felt old.

 

“Will. How are you?” Hannibal asked. His accent was stronger here. His lack of contact with the outside world, with people in general, had strengthened it.

 

“I miss you,” Will said. He said it every time.

 

“I miss you, too.”

 

“It was her birthday last week,” Will said. “I took flowers to her grave.”

 

They were both silent for a moment, thinking about Abigail. If things had been different, she would be a woman now, bringing men home for Will and Hannibal to threaten.

 

“Chilton thinks you are cooperating with him,” Will said.

 

“Chilton is a unpalatable simpleton.”

 

Will smiled sadly. “I can kill him, if you like.”

 

Hannibal smiled back. “Dear Will, forgive my selfishness, but I truly desire to do it myself.”

 

They were only half-joking. Will had killed several times in the past five years. Once he had given himself to darkness, it had been impossible to escape.

 

Their fingers touched across the table. Will missed the way Hannibal used to hold him, touch his face, tangle his fingers in Will's hair. There had been nobody else in Will's life. Nobody could compare to Hannibal.

 

“Soon,” Hannibal said. “Soon I will get out of here and we can be together.”

 

He said this every time. Will fully expected Hannibal to break out at some point. He wasn't the sort of man who could be easily contained.

 

However, time was moving. They'd wasted five years. Five years of dinners alone, drinking whiskey alone, crying into pillows alone.

 

He forced himself to smile.

 

“I love you,” he said. “I love you more than anything else.”

 

“I love you, Will,” Hannibal replied. “You are the most important thing.”

 

Afterwards, Will made his way towards the exit. Chilton was waiting for him, standing in the doorway with his hands shoved into his pockets. It was raining outside.

 

“Allow me to offer you an umbrella,” Chilton said.

 

“No, thank you.”

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

Will paused, glanced at him.

 

“Why do you keep coming back? Why Hannibal Lecter?”

 

Will smiled. “I don't want to live a life without him in it.”

 

He left Chilton looking bemused and stepped outside into the rain, relishing the cold droplets on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other version of the ending I wrote was a happier one, because I felt that this one was too miserable. However, this one 'flows' better and feels more sincere, so I chose to go with it in the end. I hope that it is, although a sad ending, a satisfying one. There is a glint of hope for the future and I wanted to leave it open so that I can write another story in this series, which is my eventual plan.
> 
> Anyway, my thanks. Caged started as a silly idea I couldn't get rid of and evolved into this. It was my first attempt at doing anything in this fandom and I've been lucky enough to receive some fantastic feedback from people. I don't think I'd have managed to get this far without the support. Over 40,000 words later, the series is (for now) at an end.
> 
> Much love.


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